


Daddy's Girl

by sui



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 07:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1889811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sui/pseuds/sui
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christa was probably going to be the death of her and they both knew it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daddy's Girl

Christa was bad for her, Ymir knew. She _knew_ that.

She knew it the same way she knew that her survival instinct must have been afflicted with a certain brand of insanity because she hadn’t heard a peep from it ever since she’d caught the first gemstone glint of the girl’s diamond watch off her smile.

It had been a party she’d had no business being caught at but she’d always wanted to try champagne and reception was laughably lax. She’d sidled up to the cutie who’d caught her eye as she walked in and immediately became aware of which men standing at the doors were private security as they collectively twitched.

Ymir was saved the trouble of two minutes of embarrassing hovering as she was spoken to first. “Enjoying yourself?”

She strove to convey just how impressed she was by the whole affair in her answering snort. “I’d say I’m having about as much fun as you are, doll.”

Small, blonde and dazzling chuckled, said, “Well, shit, I guess I’m more of an open book than I thought,” and Ymir knew she was so, so gone.

Christa, she was entirely unsurprised to discover, had her fair share of shady family. Ymir had never met “Mr. Lenz” (as his business cards introduced him) but from the three times she’d caught a glimpse, he’d raised all sorts of red flags in her mind. After all, the guy just dressed a little too well and took a few too many “days off” from his company to be a regular supervisor.

She hadn’t been thinking the mob but Christa said it for her and Ymir wasn’t blind, she could see that the girl acted a little too decorously and spent money a little too recklessly to be entirely okay with that.

“You can admit it, you know,” Ymir said, rejecting the dress Christa held out to her for consideration with a sharp shake of her head.

Christa hummed questioningly, replacing the mass of lace on the rack and pulling out something more subdued.

“The nice girl act isn’t gonna get you far here, sweetie,” she continued, “If you’re thinking that I’m the type to go around gushing about how well you turned out despite, you know, the whole corrupt dad thing. Blowing your money hanging out with a charity case like me isn’t gonna do more than piss me off.”

“So why do you let me?” Her smile looked like something stolen right off of the fancy sculptures that littered her house’s front yard.

Ymir shrugged. “Because I like you anyway?” In her mind, it wasn’t a question.

Christa giggled. “Thanks, then,” she said. “I like you too, Ymir.”

It was her turn to laugh, loud and obnoxious in the posh-induced silence of the shop. She stepped forward, slinging an arm around the petite girl’s neck. “You’ve gotta be the smallest biggest fucking hypocrite in the city,” she said good-naturedly.

And she was so far past the point of no return by then because that fact had already crossed into the territory of “endearing.”

Christa was going to be the death of her one day and they both knew it.

“Why do I put up with you again?” Christa lamented as Ymir continued cataloging her latest injuries from a night clubbing gone awry.

“Because I’d totally end up the fall guy for you when the police inevitably show up to cart you away,” she answered promptly.

“It’s… actually probably something like that, yeah,” came the mumbled reply.

Startled by the sudden meekness that had infused her tone, Ymir stole a glance at Christa. The cowed expression she spotted was enough to send her into a fit of laughter. “Well you don’t have to look so fucking nervous about it,” she managed to gasp out.

“Well, why do _you_ put up with _me_?” Christa snapped.

“I told you already.” Ymir shifted so she could lean back against the bed, head tipped up to look at Christa, who sat near the headboard, and scowled. “Man, you piss me off sometimes.”

“What?”

“If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“Sorry, but I couldn’t go to jail for you.”

“Because daddy has plans for you?” Ymir asked, the barest hint of mockery in the question.

A pause. “Yeah.”

“Do you hate it?”

Christa leveled her with a look, then, and for once, Ymir couldn’t read it. There didn’t seem to be anything _to_ read behind it. Finally, Christa said, “If anyone else asked me, I’d say I did. Because it feels like something I should have a problem with. But to be honest, I don’t really care. If he’s scheming something, I don’t really feel like fighting him about it.”

“See? That’s why you’re a hypocrite,” Ymir said, satisfied with finally pinning down concrete proof of what she’d voiced in the past. “So you act like a bleeding heart and spend his money because you think you should be doing something that feels like rebellion but you’ve really got no plans of resisting at all.” She laughed, not cruelly. “Hypocrite, just like I said.”

Christa’s voice was small but sure, murmuring, “But you still like me.”

That stopped Ymir in her tracks. “Yeah,” she said, flushing, “I guess.

Adding to her embarrassment, Christa had the audacity to giggle, leaning down to gift her with a sloppy, one-armed embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Ymir pulled away, pretending to scratch her nose as she tried to hide the lingering warmth across her cheeks. “Whatever. So does this mean I get a thank you present?” she asked.

Christa pretended to consider it. After a moment more of staring, she heaved an exaggerated sigh. “If you insist.”

“Great. Then—”

“But! I get to decide what it is.”

Groaning in response, Ymir stood up so she could flop onto Christa’s bed in a protesting sprawl. But her answer was, “Fine. What is it?”

“How about I answer a question? Completely honest, real feelings or else.”

“Or else what?”

“I’m sure you can come up with something.”

Ymir smirked, hoping that what she’d come up with was along the lines of what Christa was hoping for. But first, she had to confirm. “And anything your old man might have to say about it…?”

“Fuck what he says,” Christa answered.

Her smirk morphed into a softer grin at that. “Alright,” she said. “Then. Miss Christa Lenz, or whatever your real name might be?”

“Hm?”

“Marry me?”

“Of course.”


End file.
